


(cherish this) tarnished offering

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Loss of Virginity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 11:34:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10898520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: Credence has been living with Mr Graves for six months. Six months of healing, learning and, on Credence's part, longing, and growing desire. Six months of Mr Graves's kindness, his patience. He's given Credence everything he could need, and more. Credence only wishes he could repay the generosity bestowed upon him. When he finds some erotic photographs - all of men - in Mr Graves's desk he realises the older man's desires aren't so far from his own. Looking at one of the moving photos, a fire burning in his belly, he thinks he might have something to give to Mr Graves, after all: himself.





	(cherish this) tarnished offering

**Author's Note:**

> Alternative title: 'Mr Barebone, you're trying to seduce me(?!)' ;)
> 
> It's been a while since I've written smut and I felt like it was time (well, I started this back in the middle of April). Thank-you to [almostannette](http://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette) for looking this over/encouraging me to post it when I was uncertain :)

A knock sounds at Credence's door followed by the muffled, but strong, voice of Mr Graves. 'Credence, are you in there?'

'Yes, Mr Graves,' he answers, fingers sunk deep into the plush blanket that rests beneath him, tangled between his thighs as he lies on his side. The air is cool on his naked skin, raising goosebumps along his arms, his flanks, his backside. 'You can come in.'

The door swings open. Mr Graves has divested his coat and jacket, left in vest and shirt, sleeves rolled up. He doesn't look up as he crosses half way between the door and the bed, distracted by the book in his hands. When he does look up, three steps from Credence's bed, he stops, eyes wide, and drops the book. It lands with a reverberating thud. 'Mercy Lewis, Credence, sorry. I...I thought you said to come in.'

'I did.'

'Oh?' Mr Graves's eyes drag down the line of Credence's naked form and back to his face.

Credence swallows thickly. 'I-I've been waiting for you.'

'For how long?' Mr Graves asks, stepping closer, wary. His shoes clack over the polished floor.

Credence bites back the foolish urge to say 'my whole life', and takes a deep breath before saying, 'Not too long.'

Mr Graves stops by the edge of Credence's bed, gaze inscrutable. He sucks in a breath. 'What are you doing, Credence?'

Credence looks up through lowered lashes, playing with a frayed edge of the blanket. 'You've done so much for me, I...I wanted to give you something back.' 

Mr Graves jerks back. He turns away, shoulders tense. He sounds disgusted when he says, 'You don't have to offer yourself to me as _payment_.'

Panic flutters in Credence's chest. 'I'm sorry, I saw the photos and thought. You might want.'

Mr Graves turns back. 'Photos?'

'In your desk. Of men...together.' Credence's face burns as he thinks of what he'd seen in the photos. He hadn't known some of those things were possible. Even Mr Graves's cheeks seem to have taken on a pink tinge in the low light.

'Ah. Those photos.' Mr Graves rubs the back of his neck. 'I forgot I had those.' He lowers himself, slowly, to sit on the bed, careful to keep as much distance between himself and Credence as he can. Credence wants desperately to bridge it. There is no disgust left in Mr Graves's voice, now, only sadness, when he says, 'What made you think I would need repayment for helping you?'

Credence bites his lip. His stomach turns. He hadn't thought this through, it seems, just thought Mr Graves would take what was offered, though now he's not sure why. The men in those photos were beautiful. 'I'm sorry, it was stupid. I know I'm not...not what men want. What you want.'

Mr Graves sighs. 'Oh, Credence. That's not the problem.' A muscle in his jaw pulses, one of his hands is fisted in the blanket, close to Credence's own. 'I don't want you to feel obligated to me, Credence. I don't require...favours from you.'

'I don't. I didn't mean. I said it wrong. I thought if I said it that way I wouldn't have to.' Tears tighten his throat.

Mr Graves's eyes snap to his. 'Wouldn't have to what?'

'Tell you. What I want.' His heart is beating so fast he thinks he might be sick. He tugs on the blanket, trying to cover himself, but Mr Graves stays his hands, fingers curled so close to Credence's. 'What do you want?'

He's held the words in for so long, now, and he can't hold them back any longer. They catch on his teeth, trip over his tongue as they burst forth. 'I just...want you to touch me, Mr Graves.'

'I can't.' A breath. His hand slides closer, forefinger nearly touching Credence's elbow. 'I shouldn't.' 

'Please. No one has ever...I want you to.' There is a look, now, in Mr Graves's eyes that makes Credence think that maybe, he does want it, too. But, still, he asks 'Don't you want to?'

Mr Graves looks like he's going to protest, again, then something shifts in his eyes. He raises a hand, as though he'll rest it on Credence's shoulder, but it only stays inches above. Credence can feel the heat from it, wants to grab it and press it to his skin, but the gossamer threads of the moment threaten to float away if he so much as breathes. Mr Graves licks his lips, then leans close, and whispers, 'Let me see you then. Properly.'

Credence blinks until understanding dawns and he slowly rolls onto his back, heart thundering and face hot. He has never felt, never been so exposed. Not only to be naked before Mr Graves but to have voiced his desire, finally, for the other man to hear. 

'Oh, look at you,' Mr Graves says, eyes dark, voice thick as molasses. 'Aren't you just lovely.'

Credence's breath hitches.

'My lovely, beautiful boy.' Mr Graves hovers over him, now, so close but not touching. Never touching. 

'Please.' Credence does take Mr Graves's hand, now, places it tentatively on his waist. ' _Touch me_.'

Mr Graves's fingers grab, hard, and then he leans down and kisses Credence, hand sliding along his flank. The heel of his hand presses into Credence's hip, a firm delicious pressure, as his fingers splay over the tender flesh between his hip and his ass, digging in. Credence hopes it will bruise.

Their tongues meet as Credence opens his mouth, breathless and dizzy. Mr Graves tastes like coffee and surrender. Credence's hands are fisted in the sheets by his sides as Mr Graves moves over him, pushing Credence's legs apart, settling himself in the cradle of them. He whimpers at the weight of the older man over him, feels like he could sink right through the mattress.

Mr Graves kisses the juncture of Credence's neck. The hollow of his throat. Mouth open, wet, to his sternum. Chest heaving. Lower down, lips pressed to his quivering stomach.

'Is this what you want? My mouth on you?'

'Yes.' Credence's head swims. 'Wait. No. Your hands.' Oh, how he's dreamed of Mr Graves's hands. Elegant, strong, commanding. The breadth of them. The long fingers. Even the dark hair that crawls from his wrist, along the back of them. To finally have them on him.

Mr Graves sits back, hands braced on Credence's thighs. Shifts Credence's legs so his knees are bent, legs splayed. Runs his hands down the insides of his thighs, fingers raking through the downy hair on them. 'Like this?'

Credence nods. His cock is hard, curved against his belly, has been hard since before Mr Graves knocked. Mr Graves runs his fingers along it. 'Here?' Another nod. He rubs his thumb over Credence's hole. 'Or here?'

Credence swallows, tongue clicking. 'Anywhere.'

'Anywhere or everywhere?'

Credence can't answer, too overwhelmed, desire fogging his brain, and Mr Graves's eyes soften. He leans over and kisses him, again, says, 'Don't worry, sweetheart, I've got you,' and then he pushes his fingers into Credence's mouth. Credence suckles on them, a low moan rumbling in his throat. He curls his tongue around the pads, the knuckles, laves over the creases between each finger. Mr Graves's eyes burn through him. He pulls his fingers out, hitches Credence's knee over his shoulder, then slides one finger into Credence, slowly.

Credence blinks, bites his lip. It's strange, an unfamiliar pressure. He had tried to do it to himself once, but just couldn't, too scared, or ashamed, he still doesn't know. But he wants this, has wanted it for so long, and so he breathes when Mr Graves tells him to and braces himself against the intrusion. It soon turns from strange to pleasant, a liquid hot feeling spreading through him. Mr Graves mutters a spell and there is something slick, slippery, inside Credence making the slide of Mr Graves's finger easier. He bucks his hips when Mr Graves slides a second finger in. 

Mr Graves's free hand rubs over Credence's stomach, pushing up over his chest, through the hair there, flicks a thumb over one of his nipples. Trails of electricity under his skin, hot, exhilarating. Credence whines, grinds down onto Mr Graves's fingers. It's too much, and not enough. Mr Graves kisses the inside of his knee. He whispers, 'You're doing so well,' and 'So good for me, baby,' and tears prick at Credence's eyes.

He wants to tell Mr Graves everything, now. Confess. His long hidden desire for the other man's touch has been spoken, but his love remains a secret. Words won't form, though, with Mr Graves's fingers inside of him, and so all he can do is moan and gasp, roll his hips, twist his hands in the sheets. Give himself over, completely. Mr Graves wraps Credence's other leg around his waist, and leans forward a little, takes Credence's erection in his other hand. Credence's eyes flutter shut. 'Oh.' He presses his fingers to his lips.

There is a soft amused huff from Mr Graves and he says, 'Look at me,' so Credence opens his eyes, again.

'OK?' He asks and Credence nods.

'Doesn't hurt?' He asks, again, as he slides a third finger in, pushing a littler harder, now. Credence bites his lip. It burns, but he just shakes his head. 

'Tell me.'

'Yes,' Credence gasps, breathless. 'But I like it.'

'Oh.' Mr Graves's smile is almost wicked as he presses harder, again. 'I see.'

He doesn't hold back, now, if he ever had been, pumping and twisting his fingers inside Credence. Opening him. Sweat beads on his forehead, along his throat, dampening the hair on his chest. Mr Graves's own forehead glistens, shirt rumpled, damp under the arms, too. The air around them becomes warm with their body heat and shallow breaths.

Mr Graves works the hand on Credence's erection faster, pressing further inside with his fingers. He crooks them, touches _something_ , and Credence arches off the bed, gasping. Mr Graves's breath hitches. He's looking down at Credence in a way no one has ever looked at him before. It sets Credence aflame. Soon, he feels pleasure building to its crest within him, tingling through him, centring down to where Mr Graves's hands, his fingers are. Before he can say anything he's spilling over Mr Graves's hand. 'Just gorgeous,' says Mr Graves, breathless, awed. He slides his fingers out, but doesn't clean them, lets them remain sticky with lube and come.

Credence lies back, boneless, quivering arms resting above his head. Through the haze he says, 'What about you?' looking pointedly at the hard line of Mr Graves's cock in his trousers.

'Later,' the older man says, and walks his fingers up the ladder of Credence's ribs, soft enough that it tickles and Credence huffs out a shaky breath. When they reach his collarbone, Mr Graves presses down, then leans over and kisses him, deep, their tongues touching. The wet smacking of their kisses, Mr Graves's quick breaths, his own thundering heart, is all Credence can hear.

He pulls away. 'No I want you to...now, I mean.' He can't form a proper sentence. 

'It's OK...' Mr Graves replies but there is little conviction in it.

Credence rolls over and settles onto his stomach, pushes his hips back, too fucked out to be embarrassed or ashamed. 'I want you to...' he trails off suggestively, uncertainly.

Mr Graves makes a small, choked noise and then there is the rustle of clothes, Mr Graves leaning close over him saying, 'Yeah, OK,' and then the push of his cock. He presses a hand to the middle of Credence's back, other curled around his hip, as he fully seats himself, makes sure Credence stays still. Credence sighs, happily, at the stretch of Mr Graves's cock inside of him. 

'OK?'

'Mmm,' is Credence's only reply and then Mr Graves is moving, the push and pull of the other man inside him exquisite, perfect, everything he's been waiting for. He sighs, again, folds his hands beneath his face. There is the drag of Mr Graves's wool pants, his starched cotton shirt along his oversensitive skin, his harsh breaths and grunts in Credence's ear. The scent of sweat, the slap of skin, the bite of Mr Graves's nails where they sink into his hips. And, above all, his thick cock thrusting, stretching, filling.

It's not enough for Credence to get hard, again, not yet, but he doesn't care with Mr Graves's hands, his beautiful hands, running over his back, along his sides, pushing at the back of his neck as he fucks him. Credence doesn't move much, occasionally tilting his hips back, content to let Mr Graves's thrusts move him along the bed, face pressed into his folded hands. 

'You feel so good, Credence,' Mr Graves says, hips stuttering. 'Fuck, s-so good.' 

Credence manages to gasp out, 'So do you,' angling back so Mr Graves can thrust in deeper.

Mr Graves grabs his hips harder, pulls them up, so Credence is on his knees. His hips snap faster, and faster until he moans Credence's name and Credence feels Mr Graves's orgasm, hot and wet deep inside. He presses his face to the back of Credence's neck, hand reaching to grab one of Credence's, thread their fingers together. 

'So perfect, baby', he whispers, then pulls Credence with him, onto their sides, still buried in him, still dressed while Credence is naked.

Mr Graves kisses his shoulder, strokes his arm, his chest, but doesn't say anything, just holds him close, one hand pillowing Credence's head. Credence takes Mr Graves's free hand and kisses the palm, then lets it fall to rest on his stomach. He thinks maybe he should say something, is terrified, too, of shattering the moment with the wrong words. So, he opts for silence. Mr Graves's warm, damp breath ghosts over the back of his neck, his shoulder; Credence realises he is snoring lightly, arm wound tight around Credence's middle.

Credence's face heats to think the older man has fallen asleep while still inside him, but he doesn't pull away, or move. Instead, he brings the blankets up over them, and lies there, very still, relishing the warmth and closeness of the other man. With Mr Graves sleeping, the words he couldn't find, earlier, finally come and he whispers, 'I love you,' into the still room. Mr Graves shifts behind him, mouth pressed to his shoulder, and Credence lets his eyes flutter shut with a sigh.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was the least plotty PWP I've ever written (and yet somehow ended up at nearly 2.5k).
> 
> Come [find me on tumblr @gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/). My inbox/messages are always open. And I reblog a lot of gif sets of Colin Farrell's face, at the moment. :)
> 
> Title is from the song 'Promise' by Cocorosie.


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